Hidden Agenda
by rainydaysuedes
Summary: It's Hermione's first day at Grimmauld Place in the summer before fifth year, but something's off. Ron's gotten a haircut, she can't stop thinking about his muscles, and they're assigned to cook dinner together. Oi.


"Hey!"

That one word sent Ron's heart racing, and he didn't know why.

Okay, so maybe he did. He was standing, with his parents, in the entryway of the Granger house. Hermione's parents were chatting with his, but all he heard was Hermione, calling out to him from the top of the stairs. All he saw was the bright smile that lit up her face. She raced down the steps and threw her arms around him.

"You don't know how amazing it is to see you, Ron!" She pulled back, and they both blushed deeply. "I mean, it's so good to see other wizards. Being surrounded by muggle things all summer, it's quite dreadful."

Ron jammed his hands in his pockets, nodding. "Right. It's good to see you too, Hermione."

They talked awkwardly with their parents for a few minutes. Hermione said goodbye to her mother and father, hugging each of them before taking Mrs. Weasley's hand. Ron grabbed hold of his father's forearm, and they Apparated to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Hermione laid on her bed, in the room she'd be sharing with Ginny. She closed her eyes and let her mind race. She thought about the Order, she thought about Voldemort, but mostly, she thought of Ron's muscles.

_What is WRONG with me?_ She wondered desperately. _At a time like this, all I can seem to ponder is how different Ron looks. _She put her hands over her face. Ron did look quite dashing. He'd gotten a haircut, and seemingly developed lean muscle over the holiday. He had this air about him that made him seem so grown up. _This is horrible_, Hermione decided. _Absolutely horrible._ Thankfully Ginny was cleaning out one of the extra rooms with Fred and George, so she couldn't witness Hermione's pathetic pondering.

There was a light knock on the door. "Hermione?" It was Ron. Of course. Only he could infuriatingly interrupt infuriating thoughts that were about him. Hermione sat up on the bed and sighed. "Come in."

He smiled, and sat down on Ginny's bed. Things were always awkward that first day, seeing each for the first time at summer's end. The awkwardness became more and more tangible the older they got.

"So," Ron said, breaking the squeamish silence. "Mum's assigned you and me to cooking dinner. We better go get started."

"Okay," Hermione said, secretly glad for some time alone with him. Despite her conflicting feelings, Ron was her best friend, and he could always make her laugh.

They walked side by side to the staircase, when a voice started screaming at them. "IS THAT THE _MUDBLOOD_?! IN MY HOUSE! AND _YOU_! YOU _FILTHY _BLOOD TRAITOR!"

The portrait of Mrs. Black screamed as Ron and Hermione walked past. Though she was covered by multiple sheets and curtains, she somehow sensed their presence. Ron tensed up at the word 'mudblood'. Without warning, he whirled around, pulled out his wand, and yelled, "_Stupefy!_" at the hidden picture of the bitter old woman. The portrait fell silent.

"Ron, it's alright," Hermione said softly, pulling him along down the stairs.

Ron wouldn't look at her. She'd only seen him angry like this a few times; the day he puked up slugs for her and the Yule Ball included.

"It is most definitely _not_ alright, Hermione." He shook his head. "You don't get it. I just... It upsets when you get called that word. And it seems whoever calls you that is completely unaware of how brilliant and nice you are." He paused, remembering. "Well, Malfoy knew you were the brightest witch of our grade, but he's a stupid bloke."

Hermione smiled. "He is, isn't he?"

* * *

"Ronald Weasley! You're so immature." In contrast to her words, Hermione was laughing so hard that tears welled up in her eyes. And Ron, he would do anything to see her laugh like that.

Even if that meant sticking carrots in his ears and pretending he'd lost them. They were supposed to be chopping vegetables, prepping them for the stew, but Ron was goofing off as usual.

"You sound like my mum," he said. "Now, where are those carrots?"

Hermione wiped at her eyes and got back to chopping. "Where are your parents, anyway?"

Ron shrugged. "Who knows, off on some Order business, I'm sure. Am I doing this right?" He gestured to the poorly cut celery in front of him.

"Not at all," Hermione said simply, and he smiled to himself. His skin felt a small jolt when she put her hand over his and showed him how to rock the knife back and forth, creating perfectly diced pieces of vegetable. She smelled like really nice flowers.

"Wow Hermione, I never took you for a chef," he grinned, and she rolled her eyes. "What else do I not know about you? Is there some sort of tell-all book I've missed out on?"

She scoffed. "Right. The Secret Life of Hermione Granger. It's quite interesting, actually."

"Now that's a book I'd pay to read," Ron said, mimicking Hermione's cutting technique but still failing miserably.

Hermione dropped her knife and gasped. "But, Ron! I have got a book for you, though! It's all about professional Quidditch plays and strategies. I was thinking you and Harry would like it. Viktor sent it—"

She stopped talking when Ron's bright smile immediately vanished.

"I, well, I'll go fetch that, it's in my bag," Hermione said after a very uncomfortable moment, in a tone that suggested she knew she'd slipped up.

"Right," Ron mumbled as he watched her leave the kitchen, suddenly depressed. She was obviously still writing to Krum, and as soon as she graduated from Hogwarts she'd go visit him in Bulgaria, and then they'd fall in love and get married, and have ten genius, Quidditch prodigy children. Not like Ron cared, or anything.

But he did, didn't he?

* * *

Hermione walked the halls of Grimmauld Place with frustration at herself. She _had_ been writing to Viktor, but it was mostly just out of courtesy. He'd actually sent her the book, explaining in his letter that he thought "Harry Potter and the red one will like it". She hadn't meant to make Ron feel inferior. That was the opposite of what she wanted.

Up the stairs, down the hall from her room, she saw Molly Weasley.

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley!" she called out. "Ron and I started on the vegetables, but dinner might be a little late. Ron's having some trouble, you see."

Mrs. Weasley smiled, but she seemed confused. "That's fine, dear. I didn't know you were helping with the food. Is Ginny down there too?"

Hermione frowned. "No. Ron said he and I had cooking responsibility tonight."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "No, dear, I told him to get Ginny to help. I wanted you to get settled in on your first night here; I wouldn't ask you to fix dinner!" She put her hands on her hips. "That's odd. I wonder why—"

But she stopped herself, because they both knew why.

"Well, I suppose it's none of my business." She winked at Hermione and walked away.

Hermione ran the rest of the way to her room. She flopped down onto the bed and laughed. She didn't know what was going on with her. Well, maybe she did. Maybe it had to do with the dashing ginger boy waiting for her in the kitchen downstairs, with carrots in his ears and a hidden agenda on his mind. An agenda that involved wanting to cook with her when he was supposed to be working with his sister.

Hermione squealed, laughed some more at her own girlish ridiculousness, then raced back down to the kitchen, the book of Quidditch plays forgotten entirely.


End file.
